Night shut down with easterly air so cold I was all of a shiver, the change is so great from heat of the day. Quickly the wind changed warm to the south and the air was like ours in August. We picked up our lights all right, and poked her quietly into the black woods where should have been a river, and sure enough, there was. The accuracy of these charts is a continual surprise. By 7:30 we were at quiet anchorage stuffing ourselves with fried oysters.
December 5th. Comes cloudy. A sort of dog-day affair. Pleasant to our eyes after the glare, and our little river framed in the green of long-leaf pine looks very attractive. Along we go, getting glimpses of dark swamps, up creeks, in deep, solemn shadow. Then came the cut through the neck of land to a river at headwaters of Beaufort Harbor. Along the banks were palms, real palms. Not great big snoosing busters with cocoanuts, but little wee-wees, but palms all the same. From the boat I shot a plover and we had the deuce of a time landing and getting him. Scotty promptly grabbed him and with head and tail up, marched off below to eat him. Not much, Scotty. Then out of the cut into broad reaches where oyster bars poked up their heads from a few inches of water. A fog shut down hiding all the ranges and we were soon all to the bad. Out of the mist ahead we made out a little launch aground and it turned out to be our friends, husband and wife, still plugging at it. Close to them was a big motor boat from Conn., also high and dry. They had both tried to go wrong side of a red buoy. We waved and motored on, but in less than a quarter mile hit bottom ourselves, and with meek and lowly spirits, took up our burden and went below to dinner. Tide being well out, it was only two hours before we were afloat again. The launch balked a little for almost the first time since leaving home, and while H. was doctoring it along came a fellow to offer a tow down to Beaufort. Told him we could get along alone but gave him a segar and soon had him so chummy that he hitched alongside and pulled us down to a good anchorage off Beaufort wharves for nothing. Nothing like a little practice in insurance business and a cup of coffee and segar at right moment.
Beaufort is great. Like the Old Howard, something doing along its water front from daylight till dark and long after. Lots of fishing vessels all anchored in a line only 50 yds. from the little wharves. Thousands of motor boats and only one muffler. The wharves and fish houses extend a mile and there is lots of color, and across it all blows the damp sea wind with its smell of the old beach. Mighty good to my nose after weeks of inland smells. I keep recollecting little things about Stumpy Point such as they couldn’t keep hogs “Cause the bars ketched em all up” and one man who trapped alive a big bald head eagle complained that he got no returns because “the human sociation done gone ketched him up and let him go.” He was a good eagle and the man couldn’t understand the why of it.
December 6th. Comes with threatening skies and drifting fog, southerly. The fishermen with big crews got away, only to anchor under the hook of the land just outside. As I write, at noon, they are streaming in again and picking up their anchorages like horses running into their stalls. The air is damp, warm and depressing. H. and I could hardly crawl about on shore and were mighty glad to get aboard again.
We visited an oyster-opening plant. Mighty interesting and on the whole, cleanly. Hundreds of men, women and little children at work opening 1500 bu. a day. The little white children looked peaked enough and the dirt, steam and smell of the opening shed were kind of fierce. In the midst of the mess was a baby in its wagon, the mother at work. Too big a problem for my addled brain. Roses in the gardens and everything mighty summerish.
December 8th. Beaufort. Air better and wind more to westward, but think gale northwest needed to blow this fog to sea. Borrowed a box compass and spent the morning turning and twisting Mascot at end of wharf until I noted my compass variations. The result surprised me, for while I knew there was trouble I did not expect to find fault of one whole point. It was there, however, and undoubtedly due to my iron ballast. Think have got it noted all right, but it was a long, vexatious job, and when we went to hotel for dinner we were late and got only cold pickings but at usual price. The afternoon in walking and loafing. Beaufort is very good. Besides the picturesque fishing fleet there is the usual busy main street of a southern town, lined with all kinds of buildings from shanties to modern store affairs. Bales of cotton are standing about. Blacksmith welding a shaft in the street. The high two-wheeled country carts drawn aimlessly along by one ox. Everybody takes his time, and talks about it in slow southern drawl.
There are tonight seven or eight launches and big power boats here besides ourselves. It is great fun to see them come in because the channel brings them within speaking distance. On shore the natives stuff them with fearful tales of the dangers to be faced on the trip outside. This is all with the purpose of getting pilotage fees. I have heard tides reported as running 50 miles an hour and that is some tide. H. and I have made friends with an old darkie who was a slave here in Beaufort. He was in Union army at capture of the Beaufort forts and served with Col. Stone, Capt. Fuller and wanted to serve with Col. William Forbes because he was good to his men and looked so fine in uniform with his head always so high.
December 9th. Turned in last night with sharply falling glass, and turned out this morning at 3:30 to the tune of rattling halliards and creaking dock lines. Wind a waspish breeze northwest with flurries of snow. Got out extra lines and while shivering at the job, out of the black came little Querida II seeking a bit of quiet as she was touching the bottom where she lay at anchor. We helped the boys tie up all snug, and scuttled back to warm blankets for a good snooze. Turned out about 8:30 to find clearing skies, strong breeze and falling temperature. New England can give this coast no points on weather changes. Yesterday about 65 degrees, to-day 30 degrees. The change gave me a little crinkleums in my back. Wish we were off and away. Could bruise an awful lot of water by night. Will be to-morrow I hope. Breakfast on coal fire again. How good and cheery the warmth. Coffee? Well I guess. All we want three times a day.